


you are mine and i am yours

by professortennant



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, School, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Hecate Hardbroom wakes up with Pippa Pentangle’s name etched into her skin in dark, thick ink. A winding vine of pink hibiscuses weaves up her wrist and arm and wraps delicately, lovingly around Pippa’s name.Pippa Pentangle, she thinks in a panic, is her soulmate.





	you are mine and i am yours

Hecate Hardbroom wakes up with Pippa Pentangle’s name etched into her skin in dark, thick ink. A winding vine of pink hibiscuses weaves up her wrist and arm and wraps delicately, lovingly around Pippa’s name. 

Hecate panics and begins to think about how to drag thick fabric over her soulmate’s mark--her  _soulmate--_ and run far, far away where Pippa can never find her, never be burdened with a soulmate as strange and abnormal and sad as herself.

(She can’t bring herself to contemplate, to hope, for anything different. She can’t think about the possibility that Pippa may have a matching mark somewhere on her body--may have  _her_  name on her body. It’s too much and too dangerous to hope for something she so clearly doesn’t deserve.)

Pippa bursts into her dormitory, though, haloed by bright sunlight--her own personal savior and angel. “Happy birthday, Hiccup!” 

She throws herself onto Hecate’s bed and snuggles against her side, as unconcerned with personal boundaries as ever. 

The mark on her arm throbs and burns in Pippa’s proximity and Hecate shivers, magic and something more--something deeper--crackles along her skin and from the corner of her eye, she sees the pink flowers on her arm bloom and wave in an imaginary wind.

The motion catches Pippa’s eyes too and she stops mid-sentence, eyes widening and fingers reaching to ghost along her name on Hecate’s arm. The air in the room shifts and gathers thickness, a tension and uncertainty settling upon them both. 

Fear paralyzes Hecate and she wills her feet to move, to  _run, run, run_. But Pippa’s fingers wrap themselves around her arm, palm covering her own pink flower. Heat and magic flare within Hecate and she closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering breath. 

“Hecate...” Pippa’s voice is soft and for the first time in her life, Hecate can’t read the tone. But Pippa’s body is tense and rigid, her fingers and hand hot against her skin, her soulmate mark burning at every point of contact. 

“I’m sorry, Pippa,” she starts, fearful that this will ruin everything between them. "I can’t help it. It’s m-my magic. I can’t-- I didn’t-- _Please.”_

The plea escapes her as Pippa shifts off the bed, eyes wide and body trembling. Hecate’s heart drops into her stomach, ice cold dread filling her veins. Pippa is leaving, disgusted by Hecate’s betrayal. While Pippa had gifted Hecate friendship and a place to call home and a sense of purpose and belonging, Hecate’s traitorous heart had longed and hungered for  _more._

But Pippa doesn’t make for the door, doesn’t run screaming into the hallways. Instead, she tugs at the sash of her dress, fingers fumbling with the thin fabric and knots, desperation making her hands shake. 

Hecate furrows her brow, confused. “Pipsqueak, what are you--”

But Pippa isn’t listening, is shaking and muttering to herself. “I can’t believe this. I need to show you, need to show it. Damned dress.” She huffs in frustration and seems to realize she is a witch after all and with a wave of her hand, the dress is falling open and Pippa is pulling the fabric down, exposing her chest and collarbones and the swell of the top of her breasts.

Hecate’s eyes widen, not just at the sudden expanse of skin, but at the winding trail of passion vine wrapping itself across Pippa’s collarbones, purple flowers exploding against tan skin. And in the middle of the lush garden on her skin, in dark almost sparkling ink is a name. 

_Hecate._

_“_ It’s  _you,_ Hecate,” Pippa whispers, shuffling forward and leaning on the bed on one knee, hovering somewhere between staying and waiting to be pushed away. Pippa’s eyes drop down to her name on Hecate’s arms and looks back up to meet Hecate’s eyes, wet with tears and disbelief. 

“Me?” Hecate whispers, her own long, spindly fingers reaching forward and hovering above the warmth of Pippa’s skin, her fingernail scraping gently over her own name etched onto Pippa. 

Pippa shakes and sighs, presses forward and pushes her skin into Hecate’s touch. “ _You._ Always you.”

“But you didn’t say anything? Were you a-ashamed? I would understand if--”

Pippa surges forward, cups Hecate’s face in her hands and presses her fingers to Hecate’s mouth, hushing the rest of her sentence. “Never, Hecate. I have never, ever been ashamed of you. How could I be?” she finishes softly, thumbs rubbing small circles over the sharp just of Hecate’s cheekbones. 

Hecate shakes in her hands and she’s pleased to see the way her eyes flicker from Pippa’s face and to their soulmate marks, disbelieving. “Then why--”

“Because I was terrified I was one of the Unmatched, Hiccup. I was terrified you wouldn’t have the matching Mark and I didn’t want to ruin everything between us.” 

Hecate shivers at the thought of Pippa--bright, beautiful, wonderful Pippa--being an Unmatched, one of the ones blessed with a soulmate mark but cursed to never have their soulmate return their bond. One half of a worthless coin. 

Hecate presses her palm to Pippa’s soulmate mark and shakes her head softly. “How could I not match with you, Pipsqueak? How could I not l-l-love you?”

The word sticks and stutters in her throat, years of disuse and only whispering the word in her head and heart. But Pippa’s eyes light up at the word and she presses herself further, reclining them back against the headboard of Hecate’s bed and pressing as much of herself against Hecate’s body as possible.

Pippa’s lips hover above her own and Hecate can feel her heart beating a thunderous symphony in her heart and she tilts her head up, desperate to close the distance between them. 

“Say it again, Hiccup.  _Please.”_

Pippa’s plea is soft and her eyes bright and Hecate obliges. “I love y--”

But there is no finishing the sentiment, not when Pippa leans down and slots her mouth over Hecate’s, swallowing the last of the declaration and sighing against her mouth. 

The soulmate magic she had spent so many hours as a girl pouring over, had heard so much of during bedtime stories with her mother whispering promises of a great love in her ear, explodes at the first touch of Pippa’s lips to hers and she hisses, the completion of the bond burning her Mark. 

Unconsciously, Hecate’s hand slides over the corresponding Mark on Pippa’s chest, feels magic flood her veins. She gasps and her legs fall open, allowing Pippa to settle more firmly against her. One of Pippa’s hand slides into the messy wild curls of Hecate’s hair, still down and tangled about her shoulders fresh from waking up. The other hand slides over the swell of Hecate’s breast before traveling down and wrapping around Hecate’s Mark. 

They spend what feels like hours kissing and exchanging searching touches: a slide of tongues, a grazing of teeth, the scrap of fingernails, the press of lips. Pippa learns Hecate is quiet but lets out gasps and sighs like Pippa herself is drawing every last breath and pleasure from her body. 

Hecate learns that Pippa is a whirlwind of movement against her, all writhing and rocking hips, wandering hands, impatient fingers that slip daringly beneath fabric and trace over skin. 

Through it all, a haze of magic and heat fills the room: Soulmate Magic. It’s intoxicating and both Hecate and Pippa feel their magical cores strengthening, tendrils of magic escaping their very skin and entwining: pink and purple streams of magical energy binding into one. 

Need--something pure and magical and ancient and terrifying--bubbles up between them and they feel as if they cannot stop kissing, cannot stop touching, cannot stop stroking the corresponding Mark until the need is gone, until the binding and bond has been completed. 

Finally, when the press of magic passes, when stream upon stream of magic swirls around them and fills Hecate’s room, they break apart, gasping and swollen-lipped. Pippa grins down at Hecate, her forefinger tracing the bridge of Hecate’s nose. Hecate looks up at her, feeling more magically powerful, more complete, than she’s felt in her entire life. 

The pink hibiscus flowers upon her arm look brighter and fuller, additional blooms appearing further up her arm and winding around her bicep. Upon Pippa’s skin, the passion vine has wrapped itself around her left breast and the vines have begun creeping up her neck, purple flowers exploding across her skin. 

They lay their the rest of the day, exchanging soft and searching kisses and getting to know their new combined magical cores. They are Marked. They are Bonded. They are Hecate and Pippa.

And the whole world will know it. 


End file.
